


Tripping the Light Fantastic

by NurseDarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Emo, Fest, M/M, Seasonal fic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Way wrong answer, Harry. In fact, that was no answer at all. Harry loses his glasses. He spends Christmas fumbling around, bumping into things and looking at the pretty out of focus lights. Until Draco eventually finds and returns his glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tripping the Light Fantastic

**Author's Note:**

> OMG! I think I wrote _established relationship_. Thank you to the two bestest betas in the world, delphipsmith and groolover. Written for mini_fest 2011.

Christmas holidays, and the Eighth Years woke more slowly during their break than in previous festive seasons. They could afford to take their time now. The few who had returned had been allocated their own dorms and common room. They wouldn't be disturbed; however, they were still expected to attend the Christmas feast. 

Although the students still wore their original House colours, the rooms were decorated in a combination of all four. The dormitories accommodated two students each, paired in a manner to ensure the least amount of acrimony. There still was some, but nothing like before the War, and far more like that of rebellious teenagers than mortal enemies. 

The dorms, the Castle and even the grounds were now well-warded to keep their charges from the prying eyes of the press and those that might still harbour grudges. This protection was over and above the personal wards the students were encouraged to maintain. Although most of the Eighth Years worked very hard to ignore personal conflict, little incidents still occurred. No one would soon forget the time Theo Nott had tried to walk off with Anthony Goldstein's Arithmancy homework. To the amusement of all except Theo, he was suddenly unable to speak anything but Japanese for the next two days. With Translation Spells unable to counteract the hex, Theo'd been reduced to communicating through Yumiko McDonald, one of the First Year Hufflepuffs. The poor girl was still wary of anyone over the age of sixteen after some of the conversations she was forced to translate.

O-O

Wards didn't protect anyone from sneaking in under the cover of an Invisibility Cloak, however, especially when he had the consent of one of the occupants of the room into which he was sneaking. Draco spared a glance at the empty bed next to Harry's, hoping that Granger would keep the Weasel occupied for at least another couple of hours. As much as he trusted Harry to cast the correct spells and had faith in his own ability to do the same around his own bed, Draco still wasn’t sure he wanted an audience for certain things, no matter how oblivious.

The boys had so far kept their nascent relationship hidden and Draco was beginning to think it was going to stay that way forever, despite Harry's assurances that he wasn't interested in anyone else, wasn't ashamed to be involved with Draco, and was willing to take this as far as it would go. Whatever that meant. Draco hoped it meant what he thought it did. In every sense. As quickly as he'd admit – but only to himself – to wanting to fuck Harry since forever, he'd also grudgingly come to the realisation that he wanted a serious relationship with the idiot. And they had that last bit, they really did. They’d been together, albeit secretly, since early in the school year, since that fateful October when they’d had it out yet again in the toilets, fighting, crying, confessing things they thought they’d never say to one another. They found strength again in each other’s arms, kissing the tears away from each other’s faces and finding sweet release at each other’s hands.

Since then, it had been clandestine meetings – in abandoned classrooms, behind Hagrid’s Hut, under the stands on the pitch, until Draco had finally said yes to Harry’s idea of sneaking into each other’s beds using the Invisibility Cloak. He'd been rewarded with a spectacular blowjob. 

Who knew how lovely a day could be after waking up with someone he cared for? Though he’d never tell Harry that. Maybe he didn’t have to, as Harry had seemed to be in as bright a mood as Draco that morning. And it only got better when he snuck into Harry’s room that night, the sound of Weasley’s snoring drowned out by Harry’s gasps of pleasure. 

Now it was Christmas Eve and Draco gasped again as he pushed inside Harry’s body. “Oh Merlin, Harry, you feel so good…” Draco held as still as possible. He thought if he moved, he’d explode. And Harry’s face looked like he was in pain, but kind of not, too, and Draco wasn’t sure what to think or do. So, he waited, waited for Harry to tell him when he was ready for more and take the lead. He was good at that sort of thing, after all.

“O-o…Okay,” Harry choked out with a gasp. “God.”

Draco tried not to smile. He was pretty sure Harry wasn’t referring to him, but it was still amusing. His smile faded as his need increased. Harry adjusted his hips, and moving now seemed like the best idea in the world: Draco was finding it hard to resist. “Harry…” he said, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on his partner. “Can I move now?”

Harry inhaled deeply and released a lusty breath into Draco’s face. “Yeah, yeah, do it.” 

Draco pushed himself up. He hadn’t realised that in his effort to stay focussed on his partner’s comfort, he’d actually leaned in so far that his chest was resting on Harry’s. No wonder Harry sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

Beyond that point, Draco didn’t remember anything very clearly. There was glorious heat and friction, and at some point Harry grinned at him and tangled his fingers into Draco’s hair. Draco leaned down and gazed into those beautiful green eyes and – then it was over, and he came in a rush of passion and pleasure and all those other wonderful words that Pansy had told him made up the good bits of her silly romance novels. 

As soon as Draco spoke, he realised he even sounded as though he were in one. “I love you,” he sighed, collapsing again onto Harry’s chest, this time with the post-orgasmic countenance of utter satiation. And he’d meant to say it, of that he was sure. 

Draco felt Harry's arms wrap around his back and Harry began to breathe deeply, obviously as sleepy as Draco now felt, hopefully about to make the same declaration, so they could tumble into dreamland together. He half-heard the sound of the door and then footsteps thumping about outside the curtains, and hoped Harry would speak before Weasley started snoring and interrupted the glorious moment.

But the words never came. Instead, Harry softly kissed him, then turned in his arms. Draco was pushed out of Harry’s body and pulled into his sleepy embrace. Draco almost wished for the noise of the Weasel snoring; better to drown out the voice in his head that reminded him over and over again that Harry hadn’t said _I love you_ back.

O

Just after three a.m., Draco rose from the bed. Harry turned in his sleep, finally facing the other way; he always curled up against Draco when they were together, never turning until Draco moved to leave. It was one of the things Draco loved about sharing a bed with Harry: it always made him feel safe. Or like a big teddy bear.

But now Draco felt neither of those things, just tired and hurt. He had lost count of the number of times he’d rationalised away Harry’s lack of reply. Maybe Harry thought Draco had said he loved him by mistake, or that, saying such a thing in the heat of passion, Draco hadn’t meant it. Maybe Harry _had_ replied, but with Draco recovering from one of the best orgasms of his life, he’d not heard. Draco was fairly certain Harry had heard _his_ declaration: he’d breathed it right into Harry’s face.

But now at three o’clock, cold and sleepy, Draco didn’t feel very forgiving. So what if it were Christmas? He didn’t feel very giving, either – he’d given enough for one night. It was time to _take_.

After shuffling back into his pyjamas and wrapping Harry’s Cloak around himself, Draco’s gaze fell on Harry’s glasses, resting on the bedside table where he’d put them last night. They were half-hidden under a sweet-filled knitted Christmas stocking with Harry’s name embroidered across the top of it. Weasley must have left it there; it looked very twee and homespun. 

Draco smiled with an almost feral grin. He’d be the last person Harry would suspect of taking something as important as his glasses, and indeed he'd be the first – or maybe second – person Harry would ask about having seen them. 

_Well, let him ask_ , thought Draco. When Harry finally came to his senses and told Draco how much he cared for him, then Draco would think about giving them back.

Draco stole back to his own room as quietly as he could. Once there with the door closed, sure he’d not woken anyone sleeping in the common room or Greg in his room, Draco removed the Cloak and stowed it under his pillow. (So what if he wanted to have something with Harry’s smell all over it next to him? Draco could still be sentimental _and_ cross with Harry at the same time.) He spelled Harry’s glasses against any use of _Accio_ or other retrieval spell and chucked them under his bed before climbing under the covers.

O-O

Draco rose to consciousness through a fog of erotic dreams. After getting his bearings, he tried to pin down a vague feeling of guilt nagging at him... Oh yes. Harry's glasses. Thinking about the plan he’d set in motion, Draco briefly considered returning them. Then he replayed the emotional snub Harry had given him once again and decided he wasn’t going to do shit. Except watch Harry make a fool of himself for an hour or two. No comparison to the hours of confusion and hurt Draco had endured, but still suitable retribution if he did say so himself. Draco reckoned his father would be proud. Actually, he wouldn't, Draco corrected himself. He’d be bloody disgusted.

And then proud. Maybe.

Draco abandoned this pointless train of thought and hastened his morning routine, not least of all to get to opening all the presents that would be littered under the common room Christmas tree. He also wanted time to affect a cool and detached air when Harry stumbled into the tree in a short-sighted attempt to get to his own presents. 

Since no one knew anything about their relationship – Draco scowled yet again at the confused feelings the term evoked – he had wisely decided to give Harry the cashmere mittens and scarf he’d got for him later that night when they were alone. Harry had a Gryffindor scarf, but Draco was pretty sure even Harry would rather not go through his adult life wearing it. Indeed, this was just the first step in Draco’s plan to revamp Harry’s entire wardrobe before Weasley’s mother thought to do the same.

O

Wearing a hideous new jumper (Weasley's mother had clearly stolen a march on him, Draco thought crossly), Harry walked into the common room with Weasley at his elbow. Ron guided Harry to a spot by the tree and, before anyone even thought to talk about opening presents, said sternly, "Okay, who's got Harry's glasses?"

Blaise, sitting with Pansy and Granger on one of the long sofas, spoke up. "What makes you think one of us has them, Weasley?"

"Forget that, let's open our presents." Pansy, evidently unconcerned about Harry's spectacles, was keen to get to the fun stuff.

Weasley appeared not to have heard her. “It has to be one of you lot; no one else can get in here, not even the teachers.” Indeed, the eighth-year accommodation was furnished with impenetrable wards, designed by the best security experts and set in place by the students themselves. None of the staff knew the counterspells, and therefore couldn’t be compromised into disclosing them and putting the students in danger. There were plenty of people who would pay dearly for access to heroes and the offspring of villains. Hogwarts was not prepared to deal with either the press or vigilantes, a sentiment with which the students were in full agreement.

The only concession Headmistress McGonagall had won in the oversight of security measures was that one of her precious knight statues now guarded the entrance to the Eighth Year dorm. It seemed to know who was friend and who was foe, and frankly, wards be damned, if anyone could get past him they deserved to. Even Hagrid had been turned away once, when he’d sought to enter the dorm with a handful of poisonous mushrooms that he’d inadvertently chucked into a pocket earlier in the day.

For all these reasons, Draco knew, Weasley rightly suspected a fellow student of snatching Harry’s glasses. Who else _could_ it be after all?

“Whoever it was needs to return them fast – you look silly without them, Potter. Even thicker than usual.” Draco knew what Harry would be thinking: he knew how much Draco liked how he looked without his glasses, and the reference to being thick...? Harry would probably interpret that correctly, too.

Harry gave a sidelong myopic glare in Draco’s direction. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he said in a surly tone. 

Weasley gave the pair a strange look and opened his mouth, then thankfully closed it again a second later. Harry and Draco didn’t interact in this fashion much any more; they usually went out of their way to ignore one another. Weasley’s girlfriend was being more circumspect in her assessment of the boys’ behaviour. She was also being quieter about it, as, sadly, Weasley had finally found his voice. “How do we know it wasn’t you, Ferret-face?” he challenged. “You probably _Vanished_ them just to be an even more of an annoying prat at Christmas!”

“Why would I want Potter’s stupid glasses?” Draco tried not to lose his temper but he also didn't want to give anything away, and it was hard to do both at the same time. “It’s not like I need them.”

Harry’s narrow-eyed (but vague) glare changed to a poorly-concealed grin that apparently went unnoticed by everyone except Draco and Granger, who broke off her perusal of the boys and echoed Pansy. “Yes, let’s open these presents!”

_Shit_ , Draco thought. Since when did Granger agree with anything Pansy’d ever said?

“Wait a minute, Granger,” Pansy interjected, looking from face to face.

_Double shit._ When had Pansy learned to pay attention to anyone else but herself?

Luckily, Harry chose that moment to stride purposely further into the room without Weasley’s assistance, as if daring anyone to comment on his ability to walk without his glasses. He immediately tripped over a large colourfully-wrapped box which stuck out beyond the others from under the tree. Luckily, Granger leapt up and caught him from falling over completely.

Draco snorted, even though it was a blunder anyone could make; no one would have thought to look down, spectacles or no.

“I told you to shut up,” Harry said crossly. Granger steered him away from where Draco was sitting. On the way to the sofa, Harry tripped again and knocked a candlestick off a small table. “Fuck.”

Draco smirked. How much ammunition was Harry going to give him? “Language, Potter. There are ladies present.” He glanced at Pansy and Granger in turn. “I suppose.”

Pansy smacked Draco’s arm and Granger glared at him briefly, then quickly turned to Harry in time to catch the raised eyebrows he directed at Draco. Draco now wished Harry could see well enough to notice his own expression – the one trying to indicate _stop being so bloody obvious you’re not really angry_.

“Here, Potter,” Pansy said before Granger could manhandle him to the sofa. “Sit on the floor. Then you won’t fall over onto it later." She reached over and yanked Harry towards the ground. This time he _did_ fall, landing sprawled across Draco. 

“Oi, Scar-head, get off me!” Draco bellowed, pushing Harry off him. 

Pansy did little to help, being too busy laughing, but Harry managed to untangle himself and shuffled into a sitting position. Granger insinuated herself on the floor on Harry's other side. It was clear she knew something was up but thankfully didn’t voice any suspicions. Weasley sat down on the sofa just behind Draco; Draco could almost sense the toe of his ridiculously-sized foot just itching to make contact. He scooted away, wishing he’d just sat on one of the sofas further away from the tree. 

“Well, here we all are…” Blaise said from beside Weasley.

“All just sitting here staring at the stupid Christmas tree,” Draco said.

“The lights look pretty, though…” Harry said. He squinted at them and moved his head from side to side, looking quite silly. Draco should have felt nothing but satisfied, with Harry reduced to viewing the decorations as though underwater – he’d once described his myopia to Draco that way – but instead, Draco was beginning to feel sorry and embarrassed for him. Harry reminded him of the children in Diagon Alley during the Yuletide season, their faces pressed against the glass of the shop windows.

Blaise leaned forward, also looking at the lights. “I think some of those fairy lights are real fairies.” 

Draco cocked an ear. If one really concentrated, it _did_ sound as though a few of the tree’s lights were nattering away in a high-pitched irritable squeak.

Finnigan, who had just come down the stairs, approached the large sofa, hoisting a bottle as he sat down heavily next to Weasley. “They _are_ fairies. I trapped them on the windowsill last week. Little blighters were trying to steal my signet ring. It took three of them to lift it and another two were trying to distract me from noticing. I’ve used a Sticking Charm to keep them on the tree but it’ll wear off in about an hour or so. You might want to hide your valuables."

A shrill tinny voice from the tree shouted something rude in Finnigan’s direction.

“Speaking of losing valuables, Harry’s lost his glasses,” Weasley said. “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

Finnigan broke off his perusal of the bottle of wine he was holding and looked over at Harry. “Ha! You look really funny without them."

“Seamus!” Granger hissed. "It's Christmas! Be nice!"

“Sorry, Harry,” Finnigan said. “No, I haven’t seen them. So, who wants some of this?” He held the bottle aloft. "I found it over there." Finnigan indicated one of the side tables against a wall of the common room, which Harry had yet to knock over.

"Oi!" shouted Blaise, pointing. "That's mine! I was going to give it to – " He broke off. Everyone in the room waited expectantly. Blaise considered the bottle, then looked around. Everyone stared at him. He lunged for it but Finnigan quickly passed the bottle to Weasley, who chucked it towards Harry, who of course didn't see it coming and made no attempt whatsoever to catch it. The bottle fell to the floor with a frightening _clunk_ and rolled away towards the wall.

"Shit, Potter, that could have broken! D'you have any idea how much that cost?" Blaise stood up and angrily stomped over to retrieve the bottle.

"Yes, Professor Sprout _would_ be disappointed not to get that," Finnigan quipped.

"Shut up," Blaise said, bottle in hand. "This is stupid. Whoever took Potter's glasses, give them back. Now."

Harry squinted in his direction. "Sorry," he said, sounding a little forlorn. His focus was drawn back to the tree, where it appeared that at least one of the fairies was laughing at him. 

Draco looked over at Harry as he gazed into the tree. He looked…beautiful. Shit, this was all going wrong.

Granger interrupted Draco's study of Harry with a cheery "So, presents?"

Draco was beginning to get the impression that Granger had figured out something she shouldn't have.

“Hey, whose are these?” All eyes swivelled round to the door leading off to the boys' rooms, where Greg stood holding a pair of glasses.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Draco was _sure_ he’d left Harry’s glasses under his bed. How the hell did they manage to find their way into Greg’s hand?

"Hey, those are Harry's!" Weasley said from the sofa, standing and nearly stumbling over Granger in his haste. "What are _you_ doing with them?" He yanked the glasses from Greg's hands and inspected them carefully. Satisfied, he handed them down to Harry.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ Draco thought as hard as he could at Greg.

Sadly, Greg wasn't psychic. "I dropped my wand on the floor of my room and it rolled under Draco's bed. That's where I found them."

All eyes save Granger's turned towards Draco. "When we're finished with opening presents, who wants to sing some carols?" she asked in an overly loud yes-I'm-changing-the-subject voice.

Draco blushed to the roots of his hair. 

Pansy was the first to the punch. "How did Potter's glasses get under your bed, Draco?" 

"I have no idea!" Draco declared, his tone full of righteous indignation. "Someone is obviously trying to get me into trouble and must have put them there." He crossed his arms in front of his chest and refused to look at anyone. 

“Right, Malfoy," Weasley said sarcastically. "Someone managed to get past the Security Spells, the wards on the dorm, the statue and me.” Weasley puffed his chest out so far Draco thought he might explode. "And I _know_ they were there last night because I left a pile of sweets that mum sent over on them last night when I got home, after Harry’d gone to bed."

_Thank god for Silencing Charms,_ Draco thought to himself.

One could almost see the wheels turning in Pansy’s head. “So...the only way Draco or anyone else could have got into the room was if they got past you or someone let them in.” 

Granger’s grating voice chirped up in the most annoying way. “How about a nice game of charades, everyone?”

The rest of the group ignored her. Weasley went on with his detective work. “Right. So I bet one of you snuck in last night whilst I was asleep and nicked them! Harry might not have heard anyone because for the last month he's been sleeping with his curtains closed and a locking charm on them. Ever since that day after Quidditch when you tried to beat him up, Malfoy.”

“And you couldn’t have heard anyone over your ridiculously loud snoring, Weasley,” Draco said and immediately flushed. _Fuuuuck…_

“Wow, look everyone! It’s snowing!” Granger motioned to the window with an eager wave and a near-desperate look on her face. “Let’s go out!” _Granger to the rescue_ , Draco thought. _Hope it works..._

“Hermione,” Ron admonished. “We haven’t even opened our presents yet.”

“Yeah, or Zabini’s bottle of wine,” Finnigan reminded everyone. 

“Well, those can wait,” Granger said, abandoning presents, carols, charades and the snow. She stood up. “I’m off for breakfast.”

Draco gave an inward sigh of relief as Weasley and Greg stood up too at the mention of breakfast. Presents were one thing, food was another. Besides, as the students all knew, most of the brightly-wrapped gifts were probably just more socks from their parents and Chocolate Frogs from their friends. 

“Harry?” Weasley called from the door. “You coming?”

“Yeah, Ron,” Harry said, dawdling by the tree. “I’ll be down in a moment, just need to get something.” The rest of them clattered out the door and the sound of their voices faded away down the hall. Harry walked to the door of the dorm room, then turned back to Draco. “Come here,” he said quietly. 

Harry was leaning against one side of the frame, so Draco backed up against the opposite side and crossed his arms. “What is it, Potter?”

Harry made a show of looking around the room. “There’s no one here, Draco. You can call me Harry.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to let himself be affected by being alone with Harry, now returned to his usual non-vulnerable able-to-see-anything, hero state. Draco’s bitterness started to reassert itself. “Whatever…”

“You know…” Harry started.

Draco tried to suppress a great put-upon sigh. _Here it comes, the You Shouldn’t Wind Me Up Or You’ll Get Us Into Trouble and People Will Find Out About Us speech_. Although, it was usually Draco reminding Harry of that, so he was even more wrong-footed when Harry continued.

“Um…I just want you to know that I may have fallen asleep before telling you I loved you last night. I remember _thinking_ it, but when I woke up this morning, it felt like I’d dreamed saying it and not like I actually _did_ say it.”

“Er…” For once, Draco couldn’t think of the first thing to say. 

Harry took advantage of the silence. “So I’m going to say it again, just in case.” He smiled and reached up to place his hands on either side of Draco’s face. “I love you.” Then he kissed Draco on the forehead and quickly, shyly on the lips.

Draco finally found his voice. And his smile. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, Draco.” Harry replied. 

The End


End file.
